Philip left the room and headed straight to the car waiting outside to take him to his flat in central London. He’d had enough of the club. He’d speak to Sebastian in good time.

Chapter 42

Leo Brown stared at his hands, then sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’d been left alone and was being brought a coffee. He was trying to keep still, because he knew he was being recorded. He didn’t want to give away anything through his body language that could incriminate him later. He had a story and so far he’d had the balls to stick to it. They were going easy on him: he was a professional police interviewee and knew these things. They were waiting to pounce, he could feel it. He intended to give them a few nuggets and play their game. Auntie Brenda would have said nothing apart from ‘no comment’.

He was being interviewed by two coppers and they took turns asking him the same questions over and over again, but in different and sometimes conflicting ways. He knew they were trying to catch him out, and it was a clever tool. Lies took effort and were very complicated to get right, whereas the truth was easy to remember because it was indisputable. But he hadn’t given them enough to pull apart. Yet. He was getting tired and thirsty, and he longed to lie down. He was also desperate for a smoke. A joint or a puff of a pipe would hit the spot.

Over the years, he’d been questioned hundreds of times about various misdemeanours, and he’d grown to despise the police. They were just ordinary men and women with a job to do, hopeful that the people they dragged in to question and intimidate were scared of the law. He was no longer scared of the law. In fact, he actually quite liked prison. It was like the army: it required no effort and zero responsibility, and he could easily get his smack. He’d read somewhere recently that soldiers who’d been kicked out for drugs offences were being let back in; they must be desperate. The idea that anyone could be expected to do what he’d had to do in Northern Ireland and not snort coke was a fucking joke. He also didn’t fancy running any more. The people he worked for on and off were scarier than a little piece of ass in a black and white uniform. He yawned. They couldn’t get him in here.

The dynamic duo came back in and resumed their tedious questions. They switched on the microphone, giving mundane administrative details first.

‘Leo, do you recognise this vehicle? For the purposes of the tape, suspect is being shown evidence number LB/01.’

Leo looked at the photo of the white van.

‘I think I want a lawyer.’